You Remind Me
by Riddell Lee
Summary: Harry Potter, I loathe your very existence. I can't stand it when you look at me with those eyes. But, I can never truly loathe you, for you remind me of her... Assorted scenes of Harry Potter in Severus Snape's POV - No Slash
1. Chapter 1

**You Remind Me**

_(Harry Potter)_

**By Sissy Slyther  
**

**Plot: **Haven't you ever wondered what Snape was thinking? What was running through his mind every time he glared or sneered at the Boy Who Lived? Here, the Narrator has created a collection of memories taken from Snape's interactions during the book. Diving into the mind of _The Bravest Man_ Harry ever knew.

**Rating: **Teen

**Pairing(s): **None (other than one's that took place during the book)

**A/N: **She does not own Harry Potter, it belongs to the genius J.K. Rolling. She only owns her original characters, places, and ideas. ;)

**Book One**

**Harry Potter and the Sorcerers Stone**

_(Scene One)_

I do not particularly enjoy feasts. True, the cooking is always presented with the utmost of propriety, and tastes exceptionally delicious. I do, however, greatly detest the stares and glances I receive, not to mention the copious amount of volume that fills the Grand Hall. Thus, I strive to keep myself present no longer than absolutely necessary, hurrying away as soon as considered appropriate. However, as it is the very first feast of the new year, I am bound by school customs to attend for an extra amount of time, namely to watch the 'new blood' be sorted into their designated houses. It is a tedious thing; I would much rather be below the school in the confines of my dungeon mixing all manner of toxic materials, but there you are.

Though, it did have its uses, being present this night, being here in order to scrutinize the 'fresh meat'. Dear me, that statement does sound inexplicably cruel, doesn't it? But that is beside the matter. They are merely fresh meat to the subtle silences and art of potion making.

And, as archaic as the sorting tradition was, it was best to establish early into the year which students would be in my house, Slytherin. Not that I would choose favorites… no, of course not…

Right. And Dumbledore wasn't a real wizard.

At the moment, however, the first years were ultimately boring, filing through the door and coming to a halt before the raised podium where the Sorting Hat sat upon its usual stool, limp, dusty, and somehow imposing. The students seemed to have stuffed themselves hastily into their new wizarding robes - well, some were new, as I could, from my vantage point, see the red head of one of the new Weasley's, and the second-hand robes he wore were evident. The new arrivals milled around nervously, as if they weren't entirely sure that they were supposed to be present here. I was no stranger to the feeling myself – likely, no wizard in the world was. But years of having never seen a student "rejected" by the Sorting Hat (sadly, as if would have been quite a sight) had made me cynical. They had nothing to worry about, and, as I didn't find young children exceptionally cute, their little faces drawn into expressions of worry was only a source of vague annoyance to me.

A quiet sigh escaped from my lips. But, I suddenly realized, there were many offspring from wizards I had once known at school. The Malfoy's slick blonde hair stood out absurdly from among his darker headed peers. Interesting… I could convey no doubt that he would be designated to my house… that is, if he was anything like his father, and that sneer looked oddly familiar. Nott's offspring was there too, his face rat-like, just like his poor mothers. But, if they were at this age, then… that must mean….

And then I saw him.

I had heard a rumor that it was indeed the year in which the 'Boy Who Lived' would be joining us. I had refused to acknowledge it, considering myself indifferent. Why should I care if Lily's boy is coming?

I shouldn't. It wasn't my place to be worried… I had no right to…

But… I would tell myself, that, like the rest of the magical community, I was merely curious on a platonic level… even though I didn't see the appeal of a kid who was no different than anyone else, save for the lightening bolt scar. I would never admit, ever, even only to myself in the slightest mental whisper, that I was more interesting in the fact that he was Lily's son…

He looked nothing like her, however. On the briefest glance, I might have thought he was James reincarnate… the mere thought of which stirred a burning anger in my stomach. But then… Dumbledore had said, in years past, that the boy had Lily's eyes…

I couldn't tell from this distance, and tore my gaze away from him. It wasn't like me to appear interested, and if someone noted my ogling the "Boy Who Lived", there was no telling what it would do to my carefully cultivated image. Indifference was always best…

Though I couldn't truly be indifferent now. I couldn't be indifferent to James… and certainly not to Lily…

I reminded myself that Harry Potter was neither of them. However much his appearance may remind me of either or them, he was a different person… Right?

The sound of Minerva calling the name of the student in question drew my thoughts back to the present moment. I watched him approach with hesitation to the little stool, his eyes shooting apprehensively from side to side. Well, that was some improvement. James had seated himself upon the stool with pride, smiling smugly at the lot of us when his name was called. The boy did no waving, no smug theatrics, and the smile of his face was really more of a worried grimace.

What was he so nervous about? Did he really think the hat would reject him? I almost – keyword almost – chuckled. I wonder what the likeliness of that happening was. However, the hat **did** seem to be taking longer than usual to decide. Not excessively so, but on most occasions, it shouted out the appropriate house confidently within a few seconds. It wouldn't have been odd for anyone else, but this was the Boy Who Lived, and heaven forbid he be sorted into anything other than Gryffindor...

Wouldn't that be a switch? The hat was no doubt talking to him now, sifting through his characteristics and potential. Oh! Just hurry up already… just tell us which Damn house he's going to be in so all this drama can start. I grimaced, drama may be the fruit of every school… but it was no less irritating.

"Gryffindor!" The hat shouted at last and the table on the far left erupted into screams and cheers. The raven-haired boy walked quickly to his new house, keeping his head down. Odd, I half expected him to walk proudly with that stupid spring in his step. He also looked relieved, and worried at the same time. What exactly had the hat told him? Why would he be worried?

Well, it wasn't my place to be curious. I shouldn't be curious. No! I should care less about that worried expression that always flitted across Lily's face… I nearly kicked myself and forcibly turned my attention back to the sorting.

I did make a decision, however, even as I watched student after student sorted into their appropriate house. However much the boy was like Lily... he was a reminder of James, from his appearance to the mere fact of his existence. And, I realized, even if I tried to make it a point of being civil to the "Boy Who Lived", I wouldn't be able to manage it. So I made the choice to give in to disliking him, resemblances to Lily be damned.

On first sight, I had made the decision to hate Harry Potter.

My hate was unjustified. Though, at the same time I had every reason in the world to hate him. He was the proof of Lily's preference of James, a constant stinging dagger at mine own stupid mistakes. He was a resemblance of the man who had taunted me my school years and stolen my love. And… my hate was unreasonable, for he was neither of them. He was just another student, a student I didn't even know yet. But I didn't care.

And it was then, just as those tumultuous thoughts were chasing themselves about my mind in convoluted curls, the subject in question chose to look up... in my direction. But his gaze was not on me. It was on Dumbledore, who gave the closest thing to a smile I'd ever seen.

A smile reserved for Gryffindor.

No… A smile reserved for the Boy Who Lived.

I watched as relief clouded the young boy's features and he quickly dropped his eyes before I had managed to glimpse their color. Oh? Looking for approval was he? How spiteful!

I doubted that he even knew who Dumbledore was. Raised with Muggles... Lily hadn't known, either. Not that it really mattered. I'd never before seen the Headmaster choose favorites, but if anyone were "deserving" of it...

No. "Deserving" of it? He did not deserve to be a favorite, he deserved to be hated and avoided. Ah, no, that's wrong as well. He deserved to be hated by me, deserving all manner of vile things and trouble in life. He didn't know what it meant to be 'deserving' of something. Living, no doubt, a life of pleasure with muggles who dotted on his every whim.

It was at that moment that the sorting abruptly came to a close and Minerva took away the stool. Minerva… perhaps one of the only teachers - bedside's myself – who possessed the gift of maintaining a disciplined classroom. She was one of the few teachers within this blasted school that held my respect.

Albus Dumbledore stood up at that moment; bringing a silence to the students.

"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin out banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"Thank you!"

I almost rolled my eyes at the ridiculousness of his words. Yes, give the first-years something in order to begin building a reasonable case in which your sanity was involved. Barely paying attention to what it was before me, I began to pile my plate with food – hot and steaming.

"S-S-Severus?" came a meek voice from my left, his stutter proving difficult to be mistaken.

I turned my attention to the new Defense Against Teacher; Professor Quirinus Quirrell. Not my favorite person in the school... or out of it, for that matter. And it wasn't just because of the fact that he was the latest holder of my most desired position at the school - I had almost gotten used to having my requests to teach said subject turned down without proper consideration. Quirrell was... my opposite in every possible way. I had met him, briefly, at the Ministry, at a time when he wasn't wearing that ridiculous turban, and his speech impediment still in its early stages. Even then, he had been barely tolerable, more jittery than even a first year, desperately seeking approval from someone, **anyone**.

And I wasn't the one to provide it.

"Quirinus," I responded curtly, tilting my head in ever so slight a nod of acknowledgement. However much I may detest the man, I could offer him the common curtsies, as he was indeed a fellow professor. That is, until he gave me a reason **not** to.

"H-how was y-y-your s-summer?" he asked, dropping his gaze hurriedly onto his plate.

I considered, briefly, responding that I had hardly noticed the changing of seasons, as I spent three-hundred-sixty-four days a year in the dungeon, but dismissed the idea. Then I considered informing him that it would have been much better if I had been allowed even the slightest hope that I would not merely be Potions Master this year, but dismissed that as well.

"It was fair," I said flatly. "And yours? How was that business with the... vampire, was it?"

Immediately, his face paled even further… if that were possible. "Ah… y-yes, that was r-r-resolved. W-What d-d-do you t-think of the new s-students?"

I knew he had dodged the subject, rather obviously, I might say.

"The same as I think of them every year," I replied bored.

"B-but... Harry P-P-Potter..."

"Ah... yes..." Was no one above this... hero worship? While Quirrell went on about having met his new **idol** in The Leaky Cauldron, I chanced a glance at the Gryffindor table. He was smiling even as he shoveled food into his gullet. What? Did he never have a proper meal, or something? Or was he just a gluttonous pig?

He looked up again, just as these vile thoughts were probably making themselves known on my face. His reaction was what I expected… and then it filled me with internal surprise. He looked... puzzled – a natural reaction as my expression was probably less warm and fuzzy than he was accustomed to – but the next moment, it was pained. As if my gaze alone had somehow inflicted physical pain upon him. He clapped a hand to his forehead as if in reflex, though he dropped it quickly.

The expression that he had in that split second froze the blood in my veins. Because he was looking at me with **Lily's** eyes, and I had seen that expression on Lily's face before...

When I accidentally called her a 'mudblood'.

I turned back to Quirrell, trying to listen to whatever rubbish he was jabbering about now. But, even as I tried to understand what his train of thought on 'the Boy Who Lived', I couldn't shake the feeling that was wracking my bones.

I recognized that he had, perhaps, more opportunity to get under my skin than any creature, which graced God's green earth. So... I wouldn't allow myself to be fooled by the emerald eyes. I would never like the boy, I knew then and there.

But I could loathe him.

Yes, I could definitely do that.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Forgive me, my readers. It has been far too long, and no doubt you all probably got tired of waiting for the next scene. Hopefully, this will make up for that. I don't think I mentioned it in the first scene, but White Rabbit Asylum deserves some of the credit for this story. We often collaborate, especially when I'm stuck and can't think of what to write next.

And, without further ado...

* * *

**Book One**

**Harry Potter and the Sorcerers Stone  
**

_(Scene Two)_

Harry Potter this, Harry Potter that… it wasn't even the end of the first week and my quota for the year had been used up. I couldn't go through one bloody class hour without hearing someone mentioning his damn name. I had barely even seen the boy since the opening feast.

It wasn't as though I had been _avoiding_ the boy. I simply hadn't sought him out like his many admirers. Since the Sorting, I had been dreading the inevitable, but nonetheless, I was slightly surprised when I reached his name on the register. I glanced up and found Harry Potter almost immediately, sitting at the back of the class and looking quite nervous. I had a pretty good idea of the sort of things he'd probably heard about me from the older students, and so the trepidation was to be expected. A few students, noticing that I had paused at his name, followed my gaze and stared in awe at the "Boy Who Lived".

"Ah, yes," I said softly. "Harry Potter. Our new – _celebrity_."

His expression turned puzzled and… faintly annoyed, as though he to were sick of that sentiment. I shook that inkling off. There was no chance that he wasn't enjoying every minute of the spotlight… he only looked faintly annoyed because Draco Malfoy, and his body guards Crab and Goyle were sniggering.

I finished taking roll call and fixed them all with my cold gaze, watching as a few shrunk back into their seats. The Slytherin's had nothing to worry about of course… it was everyone else that I detested. Especially the Gryffindor's.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making," I began in a cold whisper. It was my start of term speech… for those indolent children and novices to magic. And, as usual, no one dared to interrupt me. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderhead as I usually have to teach."

By this point, half the class seemed terrified, and the other half looked eager to prove that they were not dunderheads, which was, once again, usual. Potter seemed to deviate from either group, however, simply exchanging looks with the Weasley boy beside him.

James likely would have done the same...

I couldn't resist, and I didn't particularly want to. "Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

The hand of one girl - Granger, was it? - shot into the air, but Potter looked at me as though I had flobberworms crawling out of my ears. Admittedly, the question was a bit tricky, not something I'd expect the typical first year student to know. But then again, I rationalized that Harry Potter was, for all intents and purposes, _not_ typical.

"I don't know, sir," he said finally.

Of course I hadn't really been expecting an answer… But that didn't stop me from sneering at him.

"Tut, tut – fame clearly isn't everything," I said now thoroughly enjoying myself. The brunette girl was still holding her hand high in the air, but as I wasn't actually looking for an answer, I ignored her.

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a Bezoar?"

Granger's hand shot into the air again, looking a bit like she was trying to dislocate her shoulder. But again, the boy merely gaped wordlessly for a few seconds.

"I don't know, sir."

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?"

I could have stopped then. In fact, any more questions would likely be seen as overkill, but...

He simply stared back at me. It was, for the entire world, as if James Potter were looking at me with Lily's eyes. It was almost physically painful. Lily would have known the answer, and James would make some sort of snide remark...

I couldn't resist giving him one last chance to prove that he wasn't entirely like his idiot father, one last chance not to disgrace those emerald eyes. "What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

I barely registered that the Granger girl had leapt out of her seat at this question, as I was still focused intently upon the boy's reply... or lack thereof.

"I don't know, sir," he said quietly. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"

That was it. There was James looking out at me from Lily's bottle green eyes. My attention was now drawn to the still standing girl, cursing her for standing. Cursing her for knowing the bloody answer. Maybe then…

"Sit down," I snapped at Granger. She sat down almost immediately looking scared. I turned my cold gaze back on the boy, loathing his existence. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite." I paused staring at them all. "Well, why aren't you copying that down?"

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment as the students proceeded to follow my instructions. Over the noise I added, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter."

He looked at me as if he couldn't understand why one earth I was being so mean to him. I held back an eye roll with difficulty, then set about putting the class into pairs around their cauldrons and instructing them to make a boil-curing potion. That should be a manageable task, even for Ja- Harry Potter. Potter. There wasn't really a difference, was there?

Apparently Potter didn't have much trouble with it, but, predictably, another Gryffindor _did_. Neville Longbottom, who's parents likely would have been ashamed were they still in their right minds, managed to melt one of his classmate's cauldrons, resulting in a general and widespread panic as the potion spread across the floor.

Something like this happened most every year, but it never got more enjoyable. The boy himself had been drenched with the solution, moaned in pain as angry red boils started to spring up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" I snarled, clearing up the spilled potion with a wave of my wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

A whimper answered me, reaffirming my assumption as correct. Boils started to appear upon his face and I noted that it was high time he left for the hospital wing.

"Take him up to the hospital wing," I spat at his partner, Seamus Finnegan who was looking slightly bewildered.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Potter, who was trading slightly worried, though amused, looks with Weasly. As if his own potion were any better - it had turned a nasty shade of purple.

In another moment, the boy would probably make some sort of "witty" comment to earn him the admiration of his peers, just as James would have done, and I didn't think I could put up with _that_ without gagging.

I rounded on him. "You - Potter - why didn't you tell him not to add the quills?" I snapped, and his face immediately fell, much to my satisfaction. "Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor."

Instantly I watched his expression swim with resentment. He opened mouth as if to argue. Oh? Going to tell me off? I waited, with almost bated breath… waiting for him to prove how much like his father he really was.

But it never came…

Instead he flinched and shut his mouth, looking determinedly down at his cauldron. The Weasley boy beside him muttered something that sounded like a warning into his ear, but I couldn't catch the words.

As the class filed out a few minutes later, I refused to look at the boy, although he stared at me on his way out the door as if he couldn't quite comprehend the reason for my existence. I was tempted to dock a further point from his house, but restrained myself.

It was going to be an interesting year. I would have him in my class once a week, for double Potions. And if I was going to have to watch him so critically to keep that arrogance under control, very little teaching would get done. Still, I had often wished that some teacher would have done the same for his father, so perhaps it was a necessary service to the community. Though I couldn't deny that it was fun as well.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Right, so I forgot that I had this totally finished and just hanging out on my computer, waiting for someone to upload it. ^^" Sorry about that guys and I hope you enjoy. Reviews are much appreciated!

* * *

**Book One**

**Harry Potter and the Sorcerers Stone**

_(Scene 3)_

I rapped my knuckles hard against the wooden door belonging to the Headmaster's study, before throwing the door wide and entering. It wasn't like he wasn't expecting this… It was a no brainier for someone as observant as himself. That and this little aspect of my life was stunningly habitual.

"Headmaster-" I began, shutting the door hurriedly behind me.

"Ah, Severus… I was wondering when you were going to drop by," Dumbledore said interrupting my sentence – one of the few people that could, I might add.

Yes," I replied slowly. As it_ was_ Dumbledore, I had a feeling that he also knew exactly what it was that I wanted to talk to him about.

Rather than address the topic, however, he gestured to a small bowl of candies on his desk with one hand, while using the other to turn the page of _Transfiguration Today_. "Could I interest you in an ice mouse?"

"No, thank you," I said, going to stand directly in front of his desk. He didn't ask me to take a seat, which I was grateful for. Somehow, I had a feeling that this conversation would be much easier if I were on my feet.

"I've just had my first lesson with Potter," I stated, tentatively brushing the topic.

"So, I gathered. And?" Dumbledore asked continuing to read his book.

I took that as permission to blow the gates. "And he is every bit the spoiled brat I thought him to be!" I said angrily starting to pace up and down furiously in front of the headmaster's desk. "He's mediocre, arrogant as his father, a determined rule-breaker, delighted to find himself famous, attention-seeking and impertinent-"

For the second time, Dumbledore interrupted me. "You see what you expect to see, Severus," he said calmly, without raising his eyes. "Other teachers report that the boy is modest, likeable, and reasonably talented. Personally I find him an engaging child."

I stared at him. Even Dumbledore was playing favorites? When would this end...?

He turned the page. "Keep an eye on Quirrel, won't you?"

He was trying to change the subject. Well, I wasn't going to make it easy on him. Surely he realized that this was a somewhat important matter to me...

I never thought I'd see the day when a Potter would become an important aspect of my life.

"Headmaster," I said trying to keep the sharpness from my tone. "I can't stand him!"

Dumbledore sighed and at last, looked up. "Yes, Severus, I gathered as much. But, that does not change the fact that you will continue to watch over him… You yourself cannot deny that fact. You will do it, whether I ask you to or not, and you know it." He glanced back down at his book. "Still, keep an eye on Quirrel. There is something different about him since he returned from his travels, and I can't help but feel uneasy."

I respect Dumbledore. I would even go so far as to say that I fear him. I owe him a lot. But I don't necessarily like him.

If he were anyone else, I would have snapped back with an angry retort, despite the fact that I knew he was right. Of course I would watch over Potter. It was almost as if I didn't have a choice. Of course, I didn't owe anything to the boy... but...

Dumbledore remained entirely absorbed in _Transfiguration Today_. I wanted to yell at him, to tell him that I didn't particularly care about what Quirrel may or may not be doing, that it was Potter who concerned me... But instead, I only took a deep breath, said, "Of course", and turned heel.


End file.
